


Bullet Dilemma

by FutureHeart, Hekat



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Death, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Murder, Open to Interpretation, possible implied suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25521706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FutureHeart/pseuds/FutureHeart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekat/pseuds/Hekat
Summary: In 90 minutes, my friend and I wrote a fic based off two randomly generated words, this is Bullet Dilemma.Ever heard of the trolley problem?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69
Collections: CoG Writing Tournament Fics





	Bullet Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> My friend Hekat got 45 minutes to start writing this. I got 45 minutes to finish it off. We cleaned it up a bit after. In 90 minutes, based on two randomly generated words, this is Bullet Dilemma.

**Have you heard of the trolley problem?**

Clay holsted the gun in his hands, his palms reeked of sweat, his knuckles clenching. He made sure that his thumb didn’t touch the trigger, not even an inch.

Clay stood in front of Sapnap and George, in a damp, grey room with nothing in it, Sapnap and George weren’t restrained, but had watches that were forcefully attached to their wrists; with no chance of being taken off. Clay had a gun in hand, essentially death; laid upon the tips of his fingers. His unfortunate friends were unarmed, they held their defenseless hands up in the still, calm, and yet ever so frantic air.

**Ten minutes.**

“C-Clay..! Please.” George muttered under his sullen breaths, his hands held up in prayer. He never wanted to be a selfish person, never in his life had he wanted to… in a sense, take another’s life. However, today was an exception. He had his knees on the floor, grasping his hands together, as if holding on to a white string for his dear life.

“D-Don’t… Don’t shoot…” Sapnap said, just as hastily as George. He didn’t know why he was in this situation with his friends, why he was forced to betray them in one way or another. Why Clay had to choose between the two.

“I’m… I-I’m sorry. I have… to...” Clay started to talk, but his words became weak, they faltered, wavering; quivering with fearful and future remorse. 

**Seven Minutes**

There was no way out of this problem, this unexpected dilemma. Clay had to shoot one of them, George or Sapnap. Or else he would have to suffer on his own. They were alone in the grey space that they solemnly occupied, filling it with tears, tears of repentance, contrition. 

‘Clay… Please… Remember the playground..? Remember all three of us?” George said, trying to have a small discussion, what might’ve been the last discussion that they’d ever have together.

**Five Minutes.**

The playground. All three of them simultaneously remembered the smell of the wood chips that they threw at each other. The metal swing set that always sloshed to the left just a little bit. He remembered how George couldn’t see the difference between the different colored monkey bars, how Sapnap and him would always poke fun at his colorblindness.

He thought back on the first time when Sapnap threatened to stop being friends with him, how they laughed it off at the very same spot two years later. 

He continued reminiscing everything, his hands slowly stopped their constant shivering, slowly losing their rigid grip on the gun.

“Yeah… I remember it… Those were the days… haha.” Sapnap chuckled nervously, his mouth turning into an idiotic smirk, before melting back into a frown.

**Three Minutes.**

“Clay.” Sapnap said, before pausing, his pale lips grew to an even bigger frown of sorrow; he couldn’t even look him in the eyes for the words that he’d struggle to say next.

“Shoot me.” He said blankly, finally catching Clay’s shocked eyes. It’s all he had to say. 

“W-what..? No you… you i-idiot! Shoot me..!” George said, the fragments of glass in his glasses reflected onto Clay’s tear-stained cheek.

Clay couldn’t decide, the thoughts, the nervousness, everything engulfed him; he couldn’t even breathe correctly without exhaling instantly to gain back his control. His breathing became manual and unsteady. He didn’t want to listen to his friends, he didn’t want to choose anyone. 

Soon, the three watches started to beep rapidly, making a long, high pitched noise. The beeping intervals began to increase, until the sounds became unbearable to all of them. Clay had to make his decision, he had to make one, or else they would _all_ die. Normally, death felt like just another word. Now, death felt real, as if it lingered in his skin, contorting inside and out of his systems.

**One. Minute.**

It really was now or never.

Within about ten slow, life flashing heartbeats, Clay had finally come to a decision. He knew it was terrible, but it was all he could do.

He had made his choice.

“I’m sorry.” Clay stuttered. The tone in his voice couldn’t be determined, and no one knew if they could ever determine it again. Sapnap and George both closed their eyes. Waiting. Anticipating.

Clay pulled the trigger.

**_Click._ **

...He couldn’t shoot Sapnap. George would let it go to his head. Either he’d lose himself at the thought of being ‘better’ than Sapnap, or the sheer guilt of leaving unharmed would make him too sick to function. That boy was incapable of talking out feelings, and George would unintentionally leave Clay alone with the knowledge of what he’d done. And they’d be missing that golden-hearted middle ground of their friendship. He couldn’t shoot Sapnap.

But he couldn’t shoot George, Sapnap would worry. He’d worry that every minor disagreement between them would end in Clay wanting to blow his brains out. Sapnap would be paranoid of Clay ever wishing that he’d changed his mind. Maybe he’d flee, distance himself, so terrified of ending up in a similar situation that he’d abandon his longest friend. Sapnap would feel worse than Clay, he’d let the grieving drag him down to hell. And they’d be missing that boy who was way too easy to tease. He couldn’t shoot George.

**_BANG!_ **

None of them had ever heard a gun fire, and boy was it _loud._ The gun left Clay’s hands in an instant and rattled to the floor. From there the weapon drooled a thin wisp of after-death smoke.

It was sickening. The sound of fatal copper casings meeting someone’s head, and the heart-breaking _thunk_ of a body hitting the floor. Something awful in the remaining boy’s hearts made them look up to access the damage.

Blood, fresh wet and scarlet, splattered over the walls like art. Smeared on the floor like some pathetic kitchen spill. Sat on two pale, but living faces like ghosts. He looked so small crumpled up on the floor, so fragile. There was an awful shred in the corpse’s forehead, a blackened hole right between two faded eyes. Both of them forever frozen in a terrified look. Death. It looked and smelled disgusting.

It wasn’t _fair._ The silence was deafening. The watches had all choked, the gun had stopped sizzling, and the silence was so much more than deafening. No words were said, there was nothing _to_ say. No breaths were taken, nobody wanted to breathe. Nobody blinked, they feared what would happen if they looked away. 

The urge to scream, to yell and to cry their life source out, they were all painfully blank. Replaced by nothing but the yearning for this moment to be over. Even the achingly long 10 minutes of paralyzing fear and dread and anguish and guilt was better. They’d rather sit in that forever then spend another minute in this newfound feeling of wretched emptiness.

Airborn wood chips were just a thing of the past.

Now one of them was dead. Just a body. With an inability to speak, breathe or blink. Simply future fertilizer to an ever dying planet.

**Author's Note:**

> It isn't all that clear, so you might be asking yourself: Who did he shoot? That's up to you, my friend.  
> Huge props to Hekat for writing this with me, it for sure would not have come together at all if not for him. I had a blast writing this and we hope you enjoyed. Let us know what you think in the comments, alongside your interpretations!
> 
> Stay cool (I know you will) ~Kenna


End file.
